


closing in on you

by flusteredkeith (the_silverdoe), the_silverdoe



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but can he really be annoyed when this stranger named shiro is so nice?, keith suffers closing shifts, social media shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_silverdoe/pseuds/flusteredkeith, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_silverdoe/pseuds/the_silverdoe
Summary: Shiro wants coffee, Keith just wants to go home — they meet in the middle.





	closing in on you

**Author's Note:**

> me: *tries really hard to be unique*  
> also me: *writes a coffee shop au because it won’t leave my head*
> 
> I was inspired by a scenario where Shiro walks into the cafe 10 min before closing and Keith is like /GROANS but then he's so nice that Keith can't even be mad, lmao. Special thanks to the Sheith empire discord for all the brainstorming fun! And Jojo for the summary. And [inatrice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inatrice/pseuds/inatrice) for reading it over! Bless.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also: there is art!! [Here](https://omdraws.tumblr.com/post/167720017477/art-for-flusteredkeiths-fic-closing-in-on-you%20) (by omdraws), and [here](https://twitter.com/nocturneis/status/932774447861317632) by noct-art! :)

It’s been seven minutes since the last customer left. Keith swears it feels more like twenty.

Leaning his hip against the counter, he continues to wipe down the same spot he’s been cleaning for the last five minutes with a rag. Wiping, and waiting, just waiting for the end. Not that it really helps or makes any difference. No matter how hard he scrubs, the surface doesn’t get any shinier, but he’s already put away the pastries, cleaned out the microwave and appliances, and refilled all the supplies. There’s not much left for him to do until the cafe is officially closed.

He takes another glance at his watch. 10:43. Only seventeen minutes left.

If he could close at exactly 11:00 PM, Keith could get home, wash up, finish up the last bit of his lab assignment, and have enough time to squeeze in a little bit of Assassin’s Creed before his usual late bedtime at 3:00 AM. It’s a solid plan. He only has to make it through the next fifteen minutes.

Eager to close shop on the dot, Keith fills a bucket full of water and bleach and begins washing down the remaining utensils in the sink. As usual, he decides to save the cash register for the end, in case some inconsiderate heathen decides to stroll in right before closing. Fortunately, that hasn't happened in a while. In fact, the last five days he's worked the closing shift has been wonderfully void of such occurrences.

As he moves on to clean the espresso machines, he turns up the cafe music and changes it to something more his taste.

Working the closing shift is always better when he's alone. If Lance were with him today, they'd be fighting about which music to play. If it were Hunk, Keith would probably be forced to endure a long anecdote or ramble about his week.

Once he finishes up with the espresso machine, he continues on to the register. There's only a few minutes left so he begins counting the cash. Just as he's getting used to the peaceful solitude of himself and Linkin Park, he hears the dreaded tinker of the bell at the front door.

Trying hard not to groan outwardly, Keith wonders what thoughtless, insensitive person would have the gall to come in ten minutes before closing. Preparing himself for the worst, he looks up.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit stands before him. Although it seems like the man just came out of a business meeting, he doesn’t look too much older than Keith. If Keith is in his final year of college, he’d guess this guy to be about three or four years out.

The man strides up towards the counter after taking a quick glance at the menu. In any other circumstance, Keith might've thought he was cute. But considering the current place and time, the sight of anyone walking through the front door offends him greatly, no matter how attractive they are.

“What can I get for you?” he drones. Luckily, the manager Coran isn’t here to hear this. He can almost hear the New Zealander accent criticizing him, _Now that's no way to talk to a customer!_ but he doesn't care. There's only seven minutes left before closing and chances are, losing this one customer isn't going to kill them.

Keith's retail spirit stretches just enough to try and hide his annoyance, but judging by the apologetic look on the man's face, he isn't doing that stellar of a job with it either.

“Hey there. I'm sorry, I know it's late,” the man begins, “but I only just got off work and haven't eaten anything since lunch.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. He isn't sure if prefacing with his busy day is supposed to make him feel sympathetic, but whatever the man is trying to do, it's not working.

“So what can I get for you?” he repeats. He tries to smile but only succeeds in getting his mouth to twitch.  
  
“Just a latte,” the man replies. Keith tries hard not to think about the shiny finish he left in the grooves of the espresso machine as he taps in the order on the register. Perhaps he could just make a quick one and see this guy out sooner.

“To go?” Keith prompts back, hoping with all his might that the guy would say yes.

The man's concerned expression shifts into a sheepish smile. “Well, actually, it's my first time here and I heard you guys do really cool latte art. Would it be okay to get it for here, just this one time?”

Keith stares at him in disbelief. The guy can’t be serious.

“Just this once, please,” the man repeats, clasping his hands in prayer. “It would be a really nice pick-me-up after a long day.”

Keith takes a deep breath and resists the urge to protest, a stream of profanities coursing through his mind.

“Of course,” he says stiffly as he taps in the adjustment on screen. “That’ll be $4.75.”

Suit Guy hands him a shiny blue credit card and Keith swipes it, finishing the order on the iPad. He twists the tablet around and hands the card back, his eyes catching the words _Takashi Shirogane_ etched upon it in silver lettering.

“Sign, please.”

Reaching out his left index finger, Takashi Shirogane twirls his name across the screen in loopy strokes before tapping the checkmark in the corner. Keith turns it back around and notices immediately that he didn’t tip.

He purses his lip. First of all, he has the audacity to come in ten minutes before closing. Second of all, he orders _for here_. Third of all, he doesn’t tip. Keith’s first impression of Suit Guy starts to really solidify.

_Inconsiderate._

“Thanks, Keith,” the guy says. Startled, Keith is about to ask how Suit Guy knew his name before he remembers he’s wearing a nametag.

“No problem,” he replies, and out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a metal hand stuff a rolled-up bill into the tip jar next to the register. Keith blinks at the crinkly _5_ on its wrinkled corner and looks up.

“Square payment options only have $3 as the maximum tip,” he explains with a shrug. “And I figure it’s always nice to get cash instead.”

Keith feels the back of his neck prickle with warmth as the man smiles down at him. Turning away, he shakes it off with stubborn irritation as he starts working on the coffee order. Suit Guy is still inconsiderate for demanding a _for here_ latte ten minutes before closing.

“Nice music by the way,” Takashi Shirogane adds as he walks to one of the tables and pulls out a chair.

 _Shit._ He had forgotten to change the music back to their acoustic coffee shop playlist on their Spotify account.

“Oh, sorry, sir, it’s not usually… uh, well—”

“That’s okay,” Suit Guy smiles as he sits down. “Meteora was always my favorite album of theirs.”

Keith hides his face behind the stack of cups on the espresso machine. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but he’s still annoyed. One nice tip and two comments about his musical tastes  are not enough to make up for the late hour latte. He punches the shot into the machine with more aggression than he means to, slamming the portafilter with a loud _clang_. After placing the frothing pitcher beneath the spout, he pulls the lever for steamed milk while the coffee runs down into the cup.

Keith knows it’s irrational but he can’t help but stay mad. It’s now 10:55, which means this guy is probably going to stay just a few minutes after closing.

 _So much for being able to play Assassin’s Creed_ , he thinks with a scowl. This entire fiasco will set him back by twenty minutes at _least_. He knows he’s pouring the steamed milk into the espresso much faster than he normally would’ve but at this point, speeding up the process is what helps him stay sane. Grabbing the latte art pen that he had just washed ten minutes ago, he bends closer towards the cup and begins his work.

 _Stupid business suit guy with his stupid tips and musical compliments_ , he gripes in his head as his stabs at the foam with pointed, angry jabs. His cheeks still feel warm but he’s not sure if it’s from anger or from that apologetic smile on the man’s face.

Same difference, really.

Keith straightens up and frowns down at the cup. The cat-face in question is slightly misshapen, the cream and foam and espresso bleeding into one another at the chin. The nose is off-center and the two sad-looking eyes have the wrong proportions. It’s definitely a far, _far_ cry from his best work but he’s too annoyed to care. Keith figures at this point, what with the Linkin Park music and his grumpy attitude, their reputation in this customer’s eyes can’t get any worse.

As low as his tolerance for tonight is, however, the thought of what Coran would say if he knew how Keith’s behaving still makes him feel just guilty enough to personally bring the latte out to the man. Holding onto both sides of the cup, Keith lifts it and walks it over to the table.

“Here you go,” he says as he sets it down in front of the man. Suit Guy looks up from some news article on his phone and smiles.

“Thank you so much,” the guy says. His face is both grateful and apologetic at the same time. The understanding in his tired eyes makes Keith feel a small hint of regret for not showing more care with the latte art. He supposes the man probably had a long day as well — if not worse, judging by the shadows under his eyes and the hollow look on his face, — and all he wanted was a extra, fun bit of art in his coffee. There wasn’t really a reason for Keith to display his bad attitude besides his own minor inconveniences getting in the way of his mood.

“Yeah,” Keith says, feeling awkward. “Enjoy.”

And he turns around and hurries away before he can see the man’s reaction to his awful latte cat.

 

* * *

 

The school year drags on through the first month of Fall semester. Balancing both midterm season and a part-time job starts to wear down on Keith. He needs the money but he’s barely getting any sleep these days and he can tell it’s been affecting his mood.

Which is why when Suit Guy walks in one night on Keith’s shift twenty five minutes before closing, Keith groans inwardly and thinks, _Not again._

It’s been a few weeks since Keith saw him the first time. Having just cleared the trays, Keith straightens up from the pastry shelf and turns towards the door. His lips tighten when he sees it’s the same set of broad-shoulders, the same flop of white hair, the same business suit, the same tired but kind expression.

“Hey again,” Suit Guy says as he walks up to the counter. Resigning himself to another night of closing later than expected, Keith sets down the tongs and approaches the register.

“Hey,” Keith replies. “So… you’re back.”

“So I am,” he chuckles. “Had another late night. I tried to get off work earlier this time though so I could hopefully get the same latte as before without cutting it so close to your closing time.”

 _It’s still cutting it really close_ , Keith thinks with annoyance as he asks, “Just the one latte, then?”

“Yes, please,” the man responds as he pulls out his wallet. He hands over the credit card and Keith swipes it.

“By the way,” he continues after Keith hands the card back to him and twists the tablet around for him to sign. “You weren’t working here last time so I didn’t get to show you this.”

A phone is thrust under Keith’s nose. Keith looks down at it and pales.

There on the screen is an instagram page with the photo of his deformed latte cat staring back at him. Dread fills his stomach as his eyes shift automatically to the words right beneath it.

 _Over 500 likes._ _What the fuck._

Keith furrows his eyebrows. The guy must be lowkey instagram famous or something because why the fuck would his lumpy cat get _this_ much attention. So much for the reputation of their cafe.

And then his eyes catch the caption:

 **takashiro:** _I feel so bad for coming in at closing but the cute barista made me this_ _—_

Suit Guy pulls the phone away, a wide grin on his face. “Neat, isn’t it?”

Keith blinks up at him, speechless. Did he really just see the word _“cute”_ there?

“Um,” he states intelligently, feeling that familiar warmth creep up the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, it’s… neat.”

Keith looks down to see if he can busy himself with another task only to discover that the order has already been completed.

“Keith, right?” he asks as he turns the tablet back to him after signing it. Keith nods. “You can call me Shiro, by the way.”

“Shiro,” Keith repeats, trying it out. “Cool.”

Shiro beams at him and drops a five dollar bill in the tip jar. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to catch me right before closing again.”

As Keith watches Shiro walk towards the same table he sat in last time, the urge to rectify his awful latte art arises in him. That _can’t_ be the only thing Shiro walks away with, let alone his Instagram followers — which Keith still can’t figure out how he has so many. He would investigate if it didn’t mean succumbing to the societal pressures of actually getting an Instagram handle. He’s heard Lance mention a web version before but Keith has no idea how he’d check Shiro’s page. He doesn’t ever bother with that nonsense. Usually.

Rolling up his sleeves, Keith gets to work. This time, he pours the steamed milk into the espresso with more measured waves, taking care to let the foam shape itself into more rounded edges. Latte pen in hand, he starts forming the nose, then its whiskers, then its eyes.

Keith glances at his watch as he straightens up. The art took him longer than usual and there’s now only fifteen minutes left before closing. While he wants to get home as soon as possible, his pride and reputation are on the line.

His latte cat looks much better this time, if not the best one he’s ever made so far. Satisfied with the result, he lifts the cup and walks it over to Shiro.

Shiro smiles up at Keith and thanks him as he sets the coffee down. At first, Keith isn’t sure if he should explain why there’s a difference between the two latte’s he’s made for Shiro. But then, as Shiro looks down at it, a thoughtful expression crosses his face and the words tumble out of Keith’s mouth before he can stop them.

“This is what my latte usually looks like.”

Shiro pauses and looks up at him.

“Er, if you wanted to, you know, post a better one on your Instagram,” he finishes quietly, eyes shifting up to the ceiling.

He hears the sound of Shiro’s light chuckle and looks back down to see Shiro picking up his phone from the table and aiming it down at his cup.

“You’re right, this one is really well done,” Shiro admits as he snaps a photo and inspects it. Then, meeting Keith’s eyes with a cheeky grin, says, “I think I still like the other one better though.”

Keith feels his face heat up but doesn’t look away. It becomes apparent to him in that moment that he’s been wringing his apron in his hands during this whole exchange. He lets go immediately and tries to relax.

“I’m sorry for messing up your latte last time,” Keith says. And he doesn’t know why he’s bothering to say this. After all, putting actual effort into the art tonight had everything to do with his own pride and nothing to do with the man sitting before him.

“It’s fine,” Shiro replies. “No need to apologize. I was just grateful to get a latte at all at such a late hour so I appreciate your work regardless.”

Keith nods and walks back towards the register.

 _Nothing to do with this guy at all,_ Keith tells himself as he slides in behind the counter. Out of nowhere, the irritation returns. The strange mixture of anger and giddiness frustrates him — it’s foreign and new and just… _weird_.

Grabbing a bucket, Keith fills it with water and bleach in an effort to distract himself. He begins the process of mopping the floors in the kitchen and behind the counter, deciding to leave the espresso machine for later. Just in case.

By the time it hits 11:00, Keith has finished nearly everything he needs to do to clean up. Shiro, on the other hand, is still here, idly browsing on his phone.

With a scowl, Keith stuffs the mop between the plastic clamps of the bucket and pulls the handle to wring it dry. This is what he gets for overextending his hospitality and engaging in conversation.

Keith wonders if Shiro has even finished drinking his latte yet. If this were any other customer, Keith wouldn’t be opposed to giving him the pointed look, the simple _sorry we’re closed_ , the hard nudge out of the door. For some reason, however, Keith falters at the idea of calling Shiro out and forcing him to leave. It’s frustrating. Like he’s been cornered by Shiro’s kind smile and understanding nature.

Which is why he finds himself stacking chairs instead. It’s a task he has to do, and if Shiro gets the hint that it’s time for him to pack up and go, then it’s a win either way.

So the guy isn’t as selfish as Keith had originally thought, but he’s still here now, a few minutes after closing, after teasing Keith about his art and making Keith feel—

“Need some help?”

Eyes widening, Keith turns to face him. The corners of Shiro’s eyes crinkle quite nicely, Keith thinks as Shiro smiles down at him. He’s next to Keith with another chair in his hands, having just walked over from his own table.

“Oh, no,” Keith starts, his mind immediately jumping to what Coran would say if he were here. ( _He’s a customer!_ ) “Don’t — stop — you don’t have to—”

But Shiro continues to smile at him as he places the chair on the table.

“Don’t worry. It’s the least I could do after coming here so late for the second time,” he says as he moves on to pick up the next chair. Before Shiro can lift it, however, Keith reaches out at once and yanks it out of his hands.

“ _No._ ” Keith glares at him as he sets the chair upside down on top of the one Shiro’s just placed.  Shiro merely blinks before picking up the next chair with a smile.

“Please, I insist,” he tells Keith as he places it on the table. “That way you’ll get to clock out sooner. And besides, you seem really tired.”

Keith has to fight the color creeping into his cheeks. Was Shiro paying that much attention to him or was he just saying it because, well, anyone working a late shift might be tired?

“But you — you’re a—” Keith cuts off at the innocent expression on Shiro’s face. _A guest_ he means to say. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, a voice corrects, _a_ cute _guest_.

Looking down at the floor, he grumbles, “Fine.”

Keith moves on to the next table and tries to ignore the beating inside his chest. The faster they get this done, the sooner he’ll be out of here.

But as Shiro makes small talk, Keith loses track of time, loses track of the minutes they stay beyond cafe hours. It’s only when he gets into bed later that night, studying forgotten and shirt inside out, that he realizes it’s already well past his usual bedtime.

 _Oh well_ , he thinks as he nestles his head further into the pillow, a smile lingering on his face. _It was worth it._

 

* * *

 

The next two closing shifts that Keith works are uneventful. Although he is able to close on time both days, he couldn’t help the creeping disappointment that settled at the end of the night when a certain someone didn’t show up in a suit, face long and tired, but with a smile reserved for Keith.

The busyness of midterms carries him through the beginning of November. He had hoped Shiro might’ve come during Halloween when they had pumpkin spice lattes with special art of cat heads fitted in jack-o-lanterns, but he never turned up. Probably just busy with work.

The usual wave of customers at the cafe begins to taper down in the week leading up to Thanksgiving. Keith begins to wonder if he’ll ever see Shiro again. After all, it’s not unusual for people to frequent a cafe and then never show up again, and Shiro hasn’t come by in a while. The thought bums Keith out a lot more than he’d like to admit, so he tries to tell himself to just let it go. In the end, Shiro’s just another customer, and it’s likely that they’ll never see each other again.

Therefore, when Keith emerges from the kitchen after his lunch break the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, he nearly drops the stack of paper cups he’s holding in his arms when he sees who’s order Lance is taking at the front of the line.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro acknowledges, waving a hand. “Good to see you again.”

Keith stops in his tracks, feeling that familiar warmth spreading up his neck. Lance is inputting his order on the tablet but Shiro’s eyes are both on Keith. Although he's seen Shiro several times, it feels different in the context of a busy cafe when the space doesn’t feel like it belongs to just them.

He clears his throat.

“Good to see you, too,” he says with a slight mumble. Then, without thinking, blurts, “It’s not closing time.”

“No, it’s not,” Shiro chuckles. Lance turns away from the cashier to face Keith, a gaping, surprised look on his face.

 _You know him?_ Lance mouths. Keith spares him one shifty glance before locking his eyes back onto Shiro so as to avoid drawing attention to Lance’s weird behavior. If Shiro had noticed Lance’s silent squawking, however, he doesn’t show it.

“I got off work early today,” Shiro continues on. “So I thought I’d stop by for coffee.”

“Oh. Well,” Keith says with a small smile. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” Shiro returns. Keith tries his best to ignore the pointed glare on Lance’s face as he sets the cups down in their rightful place. _He’s hot, how do you know him?_ Lance is mouthing.

“Lance, there’s a customer waiting.”

“Right,” Lance says, shaking his head and handing Shiro’s credit card back to him. “I can help the next guest in line!”

Keith sets about to get Shiro’s drink ready at once. Determined to uphold the high standard of latte art, he takes his time with the drink, to the point where Lance has to ask him what’s taking so long.

“It’s a to-go order, what the hell are you doing?”

Keith ignores him and continues dabbing at the cat inside their usual to-go cups. Before he’s fully aware of it, he finds himself drawing a heart-shaped nose with the latte pen.

He blinks. _This is embarrassing._

But it’s too late to turn back now. Swallowing his pride and what little self-respect he had left, Keith finalizes the latte and grabs a pair of tongs. While Lance is busy assisting the next customer, Keith reaches into the pastry section, grabs a chocolate chip cookie, and — after making sure Lance doesn’t see what he’s doing — slips it into a bag.

When he leans out against the pick-up counter, he sees that Shiro is already standing next to it, waiting.

“Hey,” Keith smiles, holding out the cup of coffee and the chocolate chip cookie. “Since you’re usually here when there are no more cookies left, here’s one on the house.”

“Wow,” Shiro says, peeking into the pastry bag. “I get both a cookie and a cat today? Lucky me.”

He chuckles when he gets a closer look at the latte art. “Aww. This one is too cute to drink.”

“Consider it an early Thanksgiving gift,” Keith says as Shiro breaks off a small piece of the cookie and pops it in his mouth.

“Mmm, it’s good,” he nods. “So does this mean there’s an occasion of thankfulness that warrants the treat?”

“Mm, maybe,” Keith grins. “But that’s for me to know.”

The words ring cheesy in his own ears, but it was worth saying it just to hear Shiro laugh.

“I guess I’ll find out another day,” Shiro says. He checks his watch and frowns. “Anyway, wish I could stay and talk but I’ve got a train to catch. See you around next time?”

“Yeah,” Keith says as Shiro waves goodbye. He’s pushing open the door on the way out when Keith mutters under his breath, “Next time.”

Keith continues to stare after Shiro’s retreating figure out in the cold until the man is completely out of sight. The vague thought crosses his mind that maybe he ought to be returning to work, but after that last exchange, all Keith can think about is how meeting Shiro gives him every occasion of thankfulness in the world.

“I saw that.”

Keith jumps back away from the pick-up counter and whips around. Lance is standing next to the pastry shelf with a hand on his hip and a wide smirk on his face. There are no more customers in line.

“Shut up,” Keith scowls as he turns away from Lance to work on the next drink.

“‘That’s for me to know,’” Lance quotes back to him with a snort. “I gotta say, I didn’t know you had it in you. I’m impressed, you’re making your old man proud.”

“I’m older than you,” Keith says in a flat tone.

“Yeah, well older doesn’t always denote experience,” Lance preens, brushing off imaginary dust off his apron.

“If by experience you mean getting Allura to flick a chocolate chip at your forehead for flirting with her, then I think I’m doing okay.”

“Excuse you, my charms are totally effective, she just doesn’t know it yet!”

“Right.”

Keith rolls his eyes and dumps out the used coffee beans from the espresso machine before scooping out a new batch.

“You owe me by the way,” Lance says. “For not telling Coran about giving away a free pastry today.”

“Coran is… sometimes okay with giving out free pastries to valued customers,” Keith shrugs as he inserts the freshly refilled portafilter into the machine.

“Sure,” Lance snorts. “Valued customer. The only thing you’re valuing are those broad shoulders and chiseled jawline.”

“What?” Keith shoots back, appalled. “I’ve totally talked to him. And besides, he _is_ a valued customer. He got like five hundred likes on an Instagram photo he took of the first latte I made for him.”

“Hold the phone,” Lance says, whipping around to face Keith. “When did this happen? Also, he has an Instagram?”

Keith groans. He should’ve known this was coming before he opened his mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

“Alright, what’s his Instagram handle?” Lance asks, pulling out his phone. Unfortunately for Keith, the cafe has just hit a lull in the post lunch rush and Lance has no customers to attend to, which means the only thing he’ll want to be focusing on is figuring out how to find Shiro’s account.

“I don’t remember,” Keith lies. The username **_takashiro_ ** is still very much burned into the forefront of his mind, along with the words _cute_ and _barista_. “I don’t have Instagram. He showed me the post for like, three seconds.”

“Unbelievable,” Lance throws his hands up in the air, as though it’s Keith’s job to supply him with every detail of his love life. “I can’t believe I have to do all the legwork here.”

He unlocks his phone and taps at the corner where Keith presumes his Instagram app is located then looks up at Keith expectantly.

“So are you going to tell me his username or am I going to have to use the location filter to search for this photo?” he asks.

Keith calls out the names of the next two coffee orders before turning back to Lance.

“Dude, just leave the guy’s private social media accounts alone.”

“Location filter it is, then,” Lance says, looking down at his phone and tapping away.

Keith sighs. It’s a lost cause. Although he’s never touched Instagram before, what are the chances Lance can actually—

“Aha!” he exclaims triumphantly. Keith braces himself for the worst. He hears a snicker and turns to see Lance stifling his laughter with a hand over his mouth.

“Please tell me you didn’t make this cup of coffee.”

“I made that cup of coffee,” Keith deadpans.

“Pfft, you’re fucking kidding me,” and Lance doesn’t even hold back anymore — he’s full out laughing his head off. “This looks worse than my first latte art.”

“He came right before closing so I was annoyed!” Keith explains, heat flaring up in his cheeks.

“Oh my god, this is your legacy,” Lance says, wiping away a tear. “It has so many likes, too. Cute barista??? I’d beg to differ but hey, that’s a good sign for you if that’s what he’s telling his followers. … Oh, shit. Shit,” he scrolls further down on his phone, “Damn, this guy’s hot. I mean, I know we just saw him but damn. You sure you don’t want to get an Instagram account? His gym selfies are flawless.”

“What?!”

Keith makes an immediate swipe for Lance’s phone and holds it up to his face. He feels a tingly warmth spread up the back of his neck as he scrolls through Shiro’s profile to confirm it for himself. There are pictures of scenic hikes, shots of his everyday mundane life, and of course, as Lance has just said, gym selfies.

Keith suddenly finds it hard to swallow. If he had known these glorious, sculpted abs were hiding underneath all that suit, he probably would’ve made a much better first latte right off the bat.

There’s a photo somewhere further down on Shiro’s profile that draws his eyes in particular. Thick arms glistening with sweat, Shiro is holding himself up in a plank position with his chin tucked in and his eyes looking over his back. Upon closer inspection, a tiny black kitten has been placed in the dip of his shoulder blades, looking confused. It’s… adorable. There’s no other word for it, and Keith even feels a vague sense of jealousy for whoever took the photo.

Lance clears his throat.

“Mind you don’t accidentally double tap while browsing on my account,” he says. “As much as I know you truly love every single one of these photos, do me a favor and keep your fingers to yourself.”

“I don’t even know what that does,” Keith frowns.

“Just don’t do it.”

Lance holds his hand out for his phone back but Keith finds himself reluctant to hand it back so soon.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, I’ll help you make an account today,” Lance says with a roll of his eyes. “Now hand over my phone.”

“Do I absolutely need one to look at his profile?” Keith groans as he drops Lance’s phone in his hands.

“Basically,” Lance replies, pocketing it. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to stalk him already.”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, buddy, I am making you an account right now,” Lance says. “Give me your phone. How does sharp_samurai sound? Or uglymullethead? I don’t know, one of those will stick.”

“What? No.” Keith leans away from Lance’s outstretched arm and smacks his wrist away.

“Come on, just admit you need my help,” Lance insists. “You don’t have to do anything with it. Let me just make one for you and you can explore this guy’s abs to your heart’s content.”

Keith purses his lips, considering. On one hand, he never trusted anything Lance got too excited about, but on the other, he could go back to his apartment and peruse Shiro’s Instagram in the privacy of his own home.

He supposes the odds can’t be too terrible.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

Hoping he wouldn’t regret it too much somewhere down the line, Keith takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over to Lance.

 

* * *

 

Keith curls up in bed later that night, hugging a pillow to his chest. Opening his newly downloaded app, he types _takashiro_ into the search bar. A few other usernames beginning with taka-- show up first before disappearing as he inputs the rest of the letters.

_“Just be careful,” Lance says as Keith steps out of the cafe after their shift. “Don’t tap anything you shouldn’t be tapping. Unless it’s that ass. In person.”_

Keith can’t explain why he didn’t want to just come clean and follow Shiro on Instagram. Normally, out of all his friends, he and Pidge have the highest threshold for feeling embarrassed. But somehow, it turns out that tall, nice guys who look good in tank tops and suits make him feel a little shy.

Shiro’s page loads. The first thing Keith notices is the 1,102 followers. Beneath the smiling mug of Shiro’s default picture, his description consists of three emojis: the Japanese flag, the sun, and the flexed bicep.

It’s not that interesting, but Keith still feels like he knows Shiro a little better just based off his profile. He continues to scroll down through his photos. Every once in a while, he’d tap on one for a closer look, always making sure, as Lance had said, to not accidentally press anything he’d regret.

Eventually, he finds the photo that drew his attention earlier — the plank pose with the kitten. Away from the prying eyes of Lance, Keith is free to stare at the image on his screen for as long as he wants. It’s a precious sight, Shiro with his glorious arms smiling at the tiny kitten perched on his back. Keith can’t stop staring at it. Beneath it, he sees that Shiro has captioned the post with a single word _“Kumbhak-cat-sana”_ and a cat emoji. He smiles as he imagines how proud Shiro must’ve been to come up with that.

Keith stays on this photo for a few more seconds, taking it all in. His thumb hovers over the screen, ready to swipe back a page to Shiro’s profile when —

_Clunk._

He receives a sharp pain on the bridge of his nose as his phone falls on his face. Blinking away the momentary stars, Keith picks his phone back up and rubs at his bruise. After reorienting himself, he holds the page back up to his face.

Only to see that the heart icon below the photo is now filled in with red.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he quickly taps it again to undo it. Even though Lance has told him that nothing can take back the notification you gave the person, Keith tries to stay hopeful. There’s still a chance Shiro doesn’t see it, right? The guy has over a thousand followers.

Keith stares blankly at his phone for a few seconds, unsure what to do. His screen goes dim from idleness and he taps it once to restore it to normal brightness. Just when he finally decides to try and forget about it and let it go because maybe he’s overthinking it and Shiro _won’t_ get the notification, a notification pops up on his own Instagram.

Two, to be exact. One on the third bottom tab and one in the upper right hand corner.

He clicks the bottom tab first, his heart pounding fast.

“ **takashiro** started following you.” [Follow]

At this point Keith figures he’s got nothing to lose so he taps the follow button, then checks the upper right hand corner.

According to Lance, the inbox tray icon in the top corner is for direct messages. With this in mind, Keith feels the same shyness from before as he clicks open the DM from Shiro.

 

**takashiro**

_Hey! I didn’t know you had an Instagram :)_

 

Keith receives an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach. He’s suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way Lance has set his profile up. With a photo haphazardly taken earlier that day of Keith looking grumpy set as his default picture, and the description, “keith, 20, emo” (as Lance had insisted that this setup was perfect because it was true to who Keith was), Keith’s not sure that his Instagram really gives off the best impression. They had eventually decided on a basic username **_keith_ak_ ** after Keith adamantly stamped down on Lance’s initial idea of **_uglymullethead_ **. He had only allowed Lance free reign over his profile because he hadn’t expected Shiro to ever see it.

 _Respond!_ some part of his brain — the part that sounds closest to Lance’s voice — shouts at him. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the worst, he arranges his fingers to type out a response.

 

_yeah. i don’t use it much._

 

He mentally smacks himself in the forehead. One look at his profile would have told Shiro that already. He literally has no photos or followers (except **_lanceylance_ ** ) on his Instagram page at all.

 

_I figured. I was surprised bc you don’t seem like the type to have one._

_But, surprised in a good way_

_my coworker forced me to get one a while back_

_he wanted to see your pic of our latte that got over 500 likes_

_then got carried away_

_sorry about that_

_Don’t worry, it led me to your page :)_

_Glad to hear your first latte art to me is still legendairy :^)_

_im unfollowing right now_

_:(_

_Are you still at the cafe?_

_Did you have to close again today?_

_no but its the last bit of midterm season_

_so am i really that lucky_

_Aw, good luck!_

_I’m sure you’ll do fine. :)_

_what abt you_

_got any plans for thanksgiving_

_Actually, I’m at the airport headed to Japan right now_

_Visiting family for a few days but after that I’ll be working_

_(Business trip for another two weeks)_

_(...)_

Keith stops typing as Shiro’s last message sinks in. He was going to ask if Shiro would swing by the cafe again anytime soon but given the _“another two weeks,”_ a situation like that now seems unlikely. Deleting his current text, he starts a new response.

 

_sounds fun. try all the cool coffee shops since you wont be around to come by here_

_Oh believe me, I will_

_Though I must admit_

_It won’t be nearly as delightful as having you for a barista_

 

Keith nearly drops his phone. Despite being completely alone, his cheeks heat up at Shiro’s last text and he fumbles around his head for how to best reply.

Maybe it doesn’t really mean anything. After all, Shiro’s a very nice guy. He probably treats everyone that way. Keith wouldn’t put it past him. Still, he wears a big, goofy grin on his face when he types back, _“its always less delightful here without you as a guest. also, who else is gonna purposely fuck up your first latte art?”_

Keith loses track of time as they continue to text back and forth. It’s not until Shiro finally has to leave to board his flight that Keith curls up and gets ready for bed.

He falls asleep easy that night with a smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry Keith but can you work the closing shift tomorrow? It’s an emergency and I really need to get home right after my last final,” Hunk pleads over the phone.

“But my final is the day after!” Keith groans. “Can’t you get Lance to cover?”

“Lance finished his last final today, the lucky bastard,” Hunk replies. “He’s already going home for the week.”

It’s well into the middle of December and their finals week. As Hunk had known his last final would be on a Thursday, he had volunteered to work the closing shift that day. Since Keith’s final is on a Friday, he had planned to study for it all Thursday night.

“Look,” Hunk continues. “It’s gonna be fairly empty at the cafe this week. Maybe you can even study while working. I just — my cousin is giving birth to her baby tonight and I really don’t want to miss out on the celebrations tomorrow, so please, pretty pleeeeeeease can you take my shift? I’ll make it up to you big time later, I promise.”

Keith sighs heavily into his phone. Just a few more months before graduation. Then he can finally start looking for a full-time job that's actually in line with his interests.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you so, so much, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Hunk says. “Good luck with everything. Besides, maybe your friend Shiro will drop by?”

“Does Lance tell you everything?” Keith asks, his voice monotone.

“Maybe,” Hunk says with a small snicker. “He showed me his Instagram page. Best latte art you’ve ever done.”

“Shut up,” Keith mutters. “Go study for your last final and never speak to me again.”

Hunk lets out a very Hunk-ish giggle before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Now that Hunk’s mentioned it though, Keith wonders if the timing will work out. Despite his initial intention to stay low profile with Instagram, he and Shiro ended up talking on it everyday for the past two weeks. It had been surprisingly easy to engage in conversation with Shiro. Keith doesn’t usually find it easy to engage in conversation with anyone but somehow, with Shiro, the talking just comes naturally. Over the last few days, Keith found himself sharing comfortably and openly in a way he hadn’t really ever been able to before; whatever nervousness he had had when they’d first met in the coffee shop, it seemed to have dissipated completely. Now, Keith feels like they talk as though they’ve known each other for years. It’s nice. Warm.

Familiar.

He checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly 7pm here, which means it’s morning in Japan. Pulling up the Instagram app, he types out a message to Shiro.

 

**takashiro**

_ugh just found out i have to work closing shift tomorrow_

_even though i have a final on friday_

_when does your flight get in again?_

 

Although Keith doesn’t yet feel close enough in the sense that he can easily offer to pick him up at the airport, he’s hoping that somewhere within the first twenty four hours of Shiro landing back in the states, they might at least arrange to cross paths.

 

_Aw, that’s a bummer. Sorry to hear about that. Good luck with the final!_

_As for the flight, I get in on Saturday night._

_Why? :)_

_just wondering_

 

Guess Hunk was wrong. Keith doesn’t have Shiro to look forward to on his closing shift. He sighs and pockets his phone, bracing himself for the rest of the week.

Fortunately, Hunk was right about one thing. The next evening sees very little customers at the Red Lion Cafe and Keith is able to sneak a bit of studying here and there throughout the night. He’s hoping, as he always does on a closing shift, that nobody comes in before the end so he can pack up early and get out of there quick. The Christmas lights adorning the walls around the shop continue to tease his freedom. It’s a festive time and no one should be struggling with closing shifts and finals. As the last half hour of work progresses, Keith sets down his books and begins mopping up the floors.

There are fifteen minutes left to closing when Keith’s phone buzzes. Pulling it out, he sees it’s a message from Shiro.

 

**takashiro**

_How’s the shift going?_

_not terrible_

_so close to getting out_

_as long as nobody pulls a shiro and comes in at closing_

_i can prob leave 5 min early_

_wbu?_

_On my way to see a friend_

_Unfortunately might have to pull a Shiro though :/_

_at 4pm JST?_

_well_

_as long as its you im sure they wont mind_

_I hope so :)_

 

With a smile, Keith stows away his phone and begins cleaning the espresso machine. He starts by emptying the portafilter and taking the screen off from under the group. Right when he is in the middle of backwashing the machine with chemicals, the bell at the front door rings.

Keith closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying his best to suppress the loud groan that’s threatening to escape. With a sigh, he finishes the round of backwash he’s doing before he straightens up and gathers the patience to look the inconsiderate customer in the eye.

When Keith finally lifts his head up, his breath catches.

There in front of him stands Shiro, wearing a black pea coat and a soft smile.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Keith says back.

“Sorry for coming right at closing again,” Shiro continues as he walks up to the counter. “I literally just dropped off my luggage at home and came straight here from the airport.”

“So your flight isn’t actually tomorrow,” Keith states.

“Yeah, sorry for lying about that too,” Shiro rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But I thought it’d be more fun this way. Also, I brought some souvenirs which I hope will make up for it.”

He holds up the shopping bag Keith now notices he’s been carrying. Feeling bold, Keith leans across the counter towards him and looks up into his face.

“I think your presence more than makes up for it,” he says, his voice low and steady.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Shiro chuckles.

Shiro sets the shopping bag next to the cash register and tilts his head down, his hands gripping the edge of the counter on either side of Keith.

“I’m, uh, done with finals after this week,” Keith mumbles. His heart pounds loudly in his ears, his head dizzying beneath the glow of Christmas lights reflected in Shiro’s eyes.

“Yeah?” He can feel Shiro’s warm breath on his nose. “So you’re free Saturday?”

“Mmhmm,” Keith murmurs. He’s distinctly aware of Shiro’s arms encasing him, closing in on him fast. “No coffee dates though.”

Shiro’s chuckle tickles his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then Shiro’s kissing him, soft and slow, like foam smoothing over a drink. Closing his eyes, Keith leans further into him, his heels lifting up off the ground behind the counter, and smiles.

It’s well past closing time when Keith finally flips the sign on the door from _open_ to _closed_.

But despite leaving late, so long as he’s walking out with Shiro by his side, Keith finds that he doesn’t really mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello to me on tumblr [@flusteredkeith](http://flusteredkeith.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/flusteredkeith)!
> 
> Don't forget to check the art! [Here](https://omdraws.tumblr.com/post/167720017477/art-for-flusteredkeiths-fic-closing-in-on-you%20) (by omdraws), and [here](https://twitter.com/nocturneis/status/932774447861317632) by noct-art! :)


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